Truth or Dare: Johnlock Moments
by Dr. Axis Holmes
Summary: Incomplete, and more than one chapter! John, Sherlock, Mycroft, and Anthea fight boredom with a short game of Truth or Dare that doesn't go quite as planned for poor John.
1. Chapter 1: Hide the Guns

The silence of the gathering was broken only by the soft hum of the fans, and the occasional buzz coming from Mycroft's phone, sitting ignored on the coffee table. With each buzz the device earned itself another haughty eye-flick from Sherlock, a tiny sigh from John, and a disapproving glare from Mycroft, who still refused to lean down and answer it. Years of constantly critiquing Sherlock for the horrible manners of paying more attention to one's phone than one's company had him trapped between the rude and the hypocrite, and the latter was far worse, particularly considering the picture forming in his mind already of the self-satisfied smirk his younger brother was dying to use.

"My client, Mycroft."

Mycroft flicked his eyes towards the younger man lounging on his sofa. "Will be late, Sherlock."

Sherlock sighed dramatically, leaning his head back. John eyed him with a touch of alarm, sensing the danger of any amount of boredom for his flatmate.

"Better make sure he isn't armed," said John, in a clumsy attempt at a joke. "If Sherlock's getting bored, any number of these walls could be at risk."

"That was once, John. I'm not going to do it again. Once I've already done something it becomes as boring as the rest of this."

"Are you telling me," said John slowly, "Everything you've ever done… is too boring now to do again?" John gave a quick nod to Anthea, who had just stepped into the room bearing a small tray of biscuits.

"You boys bored?" she asked with a wicked grin. "I can help out with that if you'd like."

"Oh PLEASE." Sherlock groaned, sitting up.

Anthea looked at each of them carefully, "Ever heard of a game called truth or dare? Me and my sister used to play it as girls."

John looked up sharply and muttered worriedly under his breath, "I better not be right about where this is going…"

Sherlock had the opposite reaction, slumping back down into his chair. "What makes you think a young girl's game would entertain me?" His elegant fingers traced the perfect shape of the expensive seat, as if he was missing his violin. In the back of his mind, he was running through every song and symphony he had ever learned, fitting pieces of sound together in order to form the perfect new melody to try out at home. Mrs. Hudson, his usual audience, was away for the week, which gave him just that long to write something new. _Oh, but what's the point really, _he thought bitterly. _She's impressed with everything I play for her. I need a new challenge. Maybe I can try and change John's mind about the violin instead. _

"Sherlock." said Anthea evenly, but with the same devilish touch to her smile. "Truth, or Dare?" She leaned forward, giving away her genuine curiosity to hear which he would choose.

In spite of himself, Sherlock's mind whirled into action, weighing which would pose the bigger risk to him. The game would be no use to him if not played by the rules, so he fully intended to swallow whatever consequences his choice provided. Still, even what he could notice about the woman in front of him told him nothing useful enough to point out an obvious choice. Her sleepless night, weak lower back, new hairbrush, coffee preferences, the breed of terrier she owned, told him nothing about her mind, and what could possibly be going on in it. What she could possibly want from him, information, or humiliation?

"Dare," he replied, with only a touch of dramatic flair. He knew the instant he said it that he had chosen the larger risk, but he couldn't possibly regret his choice. Not with this sudden and new stimulation to a previously boring conversation.

Anthea smiled with playful satisfaction. "Okay," she said slowly, savoring his newly intrigued gaze. "I dare you… to give your John Watson a kiss."

John shot to his feet, dropping the biscuit in his hands to the floor. "Nope! No you don't." He stormed right to the door, flung it open, and stomped out into the garden, slamming the heavy door behind him.

Mycroft let out a sigh. "That is mahogany." he muttered bitterly.


	2. Chapter 2: A Hobbit in the Garden

Despite himself and his racing heart, John could not help pausing to stare in awe at the intricacies of Mycroft's beautiful garden. The pale and wondrously smooth marble bench he was enjoying looked out onto a picturesque pond, entirely surrounded by aspen and willows. The sun shining through their leaves painted the air a gentle, stammering green, split with bursts of yellow where the sun broke through the branches. He drank in the scene for a good ten minutes, allowing himself time to calm down.

"Are you alright?"asked a deep, familiar voice.

John jerked slightly, laying a hand instinctively over his heart. "My God, Sherlock. You could've scared me to death." Sherlock said nothing, gazing at his shoelaces for a few moments before looking out over the water. John cleared his throat nervously. "I, uh…" he coughed and started again, this time with Sherlock consenting to meet his eyes. "I'm sorry if I may have come off a bit rude back there."

"Rude? Oh no, you're hardly ever rude. If anything, you've more than earned the right to be rude considering my past behavior." mused Sherlock aloud, almost more to himself than to John. Glancing at his flatmate as if only then remembering his presence, he took the open seat beside him, looking out onto the water as he spoke. "In fact, you do me enough of a service by not calling me a freak like Sally and the rest."

John sighed. "You aren't a freak, Sherlock. You're brilliant. Really, you are."

"Yes, you've already expressed that thought-"

"-In every possible variant known to the English language, I know, I know."

"Available. Assuming you are referring to what I said to Irene Adler, I said 'In every possible variant available to the English-"

"Oh, stop it already." John glanced up in surprise when Sherlock actually obliged, rather than flying back with a speedy retort. In fact, John was met with another, much guiltier surprise when he noticed that Sherlock's eyes were watering a little. "Oh, please tell me that isn't…"

"Isn't what? No, no, I'm fine. I'm always fine." Sherlock smiled brightly at him, but dropped the charade after a few moments of looking into John's distrusting eyes.

"You weren't… offended, were you? That I just ran off at the thought of it?" John said this haltingly, knowing that a slight misstep in wording would cause Sherlock to close down completely. They had gone long enough without even acknowledging the palpable tension between them, although it had been present since the day they met, it was time to put it behind them. _Maybe then I'll actually be able to hold onto a girlfriend for more than a week. _

Sherlock didn't answer, his eyes resuming their scan of the water's surface. "I was watching the tele the other day, that program you used to put on when Sarah came over."

"Doctor Who?" ventured John, wondering where Sherlock could possibly be going with this.

"Ah yes, Doc-tor Who. Has it ever occurred to you… that I have the two qualities you require to see absolute truth; I am brilliant… and unloved."

Recognizing his words to be a quote from a scene he heard from the kitchen while making dinner, John looked up to meet Sherlock's eyes. "Well that's not true at all, is it? Sure, you're brilliant, but there are plenty of people who care about you."

Sherlock stood up abruptly, and John instinctively followed suit, hating to have Sherlock talking down to him any more than he already had to. "Really." muttered Sherlock distantly. It wasn't so much a question, as simply a base expression of doubt.

"Yes, of course."

One small tear escaped Sherlock's eye, running down his pale, flawless face. His eyes seemed to be looking straight into John, who found himself again with a racing heartbeat. Silently, perhaps as an excuse to tear his gaze away from the intensity of Sherlock's stare, he gave the other man a quick hug. Sherlock seemed surprised, but grateful for the contact. "John," he said softly.

John leaned back to look Sherlock in the face once again, only to find the other man mere inches away. Time seemed to slow down, if not stop completely. Sherlock leaned forward suddenly and pressed his perfectly formed lips to John's, who found himself powerless to move, act, slip away. Imprisoned by shock, he felt something awaken deep within himself, and leaned into the kiss, responding, learning the shape of Sherlock's lips, drinking in the taste of him.

Sherlock suddenly pulled away, with a wide and triumphant grin. "Is that enough for you? Did I win?" he called to someone on the path behind him.

Anthea stepped out from behind the trees, clapping with an impish glee. "Bravo, Sherlock! I didn't think you had it in you."

John looked up at Sherlock in utter horror, but Sherlock had already swaggered back up the path to the waiting Anthea.


	3. Chapter 3: The Best Kind of Apology

With every hour that passed, Sherlock's pacing grew more frequent, more frenzied. It wasn't like John to stay away this long, particularly without telling Sherlock where he was going. His mind was jumping around from one idea to the next; John couldn't be at Harry's, her drinking was in full swing again. He could be at Sarah's, but that was also unlikely since John always told him so, or at the very least that he was going 'out.' Telling Sherlock nothing implied that he was cross with him, which could only be about the events of the day before, but whichever way he looked at it, Sherlock couldn't figure out why he would be so upset as to stay away for a whole day without a word. _It can't be Moriarty; he likes the chase, the game. He would have drawn attention to himself by now, called me out to play. So it must be about the- kiss. But why would he be so angry?_

Footsteps on the stairs caused him to jump to his feet, the cigarette he held flying into the sink. _If that's John, I'll have to get to that before sees it._

John only had to take a few steps into the apartment before smelling the smoke on the air. "Have you been smoking? Oh, never mind, I've got bigger problems with you at the moment."

Only two of Sherlock's long strides put him directly in front of John, and the detective breathed a small sigh of relief. He'd only been at Sarah's.

John looked around the flat, which was a bigger mess even than the first time he'd seen it. "I'm gone for one night," he muttered, "And it all goes to hell. Couldn't you at least have cleaned this up a bit?"

Sherlock glanced around as if only noticing the mess for the first time. "Ah yes, of course." He immediately started bustling around, picking up the place as fast as he could; looking for any way to appease his clearly annoyed flat mate.

"Take it a little slower will you, you'll break something."

Setting the books in his hands gently on the table, Sherlock halted completely. Walking back until he was again directly in front of John. "Did what happen yesterday upset you in some way?"

The genuine worry written all over his forehead took John by surprise. It never occurred to him Sherlock might not actually know that what he did had been wrong. Every furious word that had ran through his mind the previous night just emptied from his mind, as if he didn't have the strength for it anymore. He couldn't keep punishing Sherlock for something he didn't understand. But as John looked up to meet his eyes, he couldn't help a bit of anger returning to him. Anger at the confusion Sherlock had caused for him. "Yes, you know. It did." He snapped.

Sherlock instinctively leaned back. "It was all for a game, John, it was just a child's game."

"And that's what frightens me. People are just pieces in a puzzle for you, your entertainment. You'll do anything, **anything**, to not be bored. No matter what the cost to others." having finally said this, he glared at the detective, waiting for his response.

"So that's what you think of me."

"That's what everyone thinks of you."

Sherlock's face lost all traces of discernible emotion, as if someone had just wiped him blank. Wordlessly he turned, made his way to the couch, and collapsed onto it, face towards the pillow.

Try as hard as it might, John's anger simply couldn't overpower his guilt, and with an exasperated sigh he walked over to lay a hand on Sherlock's shoulder. "Sherlock, I didn't mean-"

"You clearly did."

"Alright then, I did. But I don't think that makes you a bad person, Sherlock."

"Doesn't it?" Sherlock sat up; palms on his forehead, and John took the seat beside him. "John… did you mean it? Are there really people who care about me?"

John stared at him, realizing that up until the kiss, Sherlock truly hadn't been acting. "Yes, yes, of course I meant it. Did…. You, mean it?"

"Mean, what? I meant everything."

John's heart began to race again. "Everything?" Noticing John's sudden tension, Sherlock eyed him, puzzled, clearly waiting for an explanation. "Even… Even that last bit?"

Sherlock paused, one of the longest pauses John could ever remember experiencing. "That, John, only means what you want it to."

John's eyes widened. Without stopping to think, he grabbed ahold of Sherlock's coat collar, and pulled him into a kiss. His hands slipped into Sherlock's endearing mess of dark hair, and Sherlock let a soft sound of thrill escape him, never wanting the kiss to end.

_"_I should have tried this game a long time ago," he whispered, with a voice like honey and rich chocolate. John smiled, and leaned in to kiss him again.


	4. Chapter 4: Reasons and Time

**AN: I see quite a bit of fan fiction featuring the perfect life of Sherlock and John as a couple, but that's not really how I picture it going. I picture their relationship to be full of awkward tension, sweet apologies, and a whole lot of well-meant bickering! I'll try to capture as much of this as I can manage in the next chapter or two. Enjoy. =]**

John's eyes snapped open, heart racing, and he let out a gasp of relief to find himself in his own bed, in his own dark bedroom. _It was just another war dream. _He rubbed his eyes. The clock on the table read 5:19am; his alarm wouldn't go off for another ten minutes. Knowing he wouldn't be able to sleep anyway, he moved to get out of bed, and froze.

Fast asleep, with his dark hair sticking out at impossible angles, Sherlock had wound his arm snugly around John's waist sometime during the night. John slowly leaned back into bed, so as not to wake him, the events of the previous days coming back to him in flashes. _I… kissed... Sherlock Holmes. And now he's in my bed. Oh God… _Every denial, every awkward moment, every comment about their living arrangement flooded into his mind at once. _If this gets out, If we really do this… I might be the laughingstock of London! No one will ever take me seriously again, I'll just be Sherlock Holmes' little boyfriend for the rest of my life, even if I called it off! Oh, God, what have I done now…?_

Sherlock groaned in his sleep, pulling John closer. Too distressed to enjoy this, John wanted nothing more than to pull free. Only memories of just how grumpy Sherlock could be if woken a moment before he planned to kept him from doing just that.

Unfortunately, the universe had other ideas. The blaring of the alarm clock sent Sherlock flying out of bed in surprise, the sheets wrapping around his slender legs and causing him to crash onto the floor, crying out loudly for John, whose previous apprehension fled his mind entirely as he burst out laughing.

"Oh, WHERE are my cigarettes." snapped Sherlock, freeing himself with difficulty.

"Over, they're over-" gasping, John attempted to piece together a sentence before giving up completely and surrendering to whoops of mirth. Sherlock's disdainful glares only worsened the situation, with his tousled hair and wrinkled night shirt, it was impossible to take him seriously. John found himself forgetting everything that could go wrong, simply allowing himself to feel an overwhelming affection for the man in front of him. "Come on, we've got a case today, I'll make breakfast."

Looking for a moment as though he might argue, Sherlock changed his mind and instead stumbled towards the doorway, pushing his hair out of his eyes. "I'm putting sugar in the coffee," he muttered crossly, marching out with as much dignity as he could muster.

Sherlock's rather unceremonious awakening kept a tiny smile on John's face all morning. He didn't even mind when Sherlock grunted at him rather than thanking him when John placed a fresh, hot breakfast in front of him. "As pleasant as always, I see," said John, grinning.

"It's a quarter past six in the morning, John. Excuse me for not being a bundle of morning cheer." he eyed John, who was still grinning helplessly as he attempted to clear away enough of his flat mate's equipment to take the place opposite him at the table. "Thank you… for this." he mumbled grudgingly.

"Don't mention it."

"So," Sherlock drummed his fingers on the table nervously. "Are we uh, what are we?"

The carefree smile slowly slipped off John's face. "Sherlock, I don't know if I can do this," he swallowed. "You know, I spent my whole life…"

"I know." Sherlock's intense stare had John's skin prickling.

"It's just a difficult thing to do, Sherlock. Just, ah, give me time. I won't want to hide it forever." John couldn't bring himself to meet his eyes.

"You won't?"

"No, no, of course I won't. Now finish that up, Lestrade wants us both in by seven." watching the way John's lips formed the words, Sherlock fought an impulse to kiss him, and instead settled with putting an awkward hand over John's. John finally met his eyes, and the two promptly dissolved into hopeless laughter, all their tension and worries melting away, if only for a moment.


	5. Chapter 5: A Word With the Queen

**AN: I'm not quite as happy with this one, but I already have an idea for a sixth and final chapter! Thanks for sticking with it! :)**

* * *

Sherlock Holmes was nearly nodding off as he yawned his way through dozens of crime scene samples at the lab. He hated this sometimes, the boring part of even the interesting cases. Every piece of data he could gather was helpful in forming his conclusions, but he often wished he could just pass on the work to someone else, go be with John. At the thought of his flatmate, his eyes flicked to his phone, and he set the dish aside and picked it up, elegant fingers flying across the keypad to dial John's number. _A quick break for sanity's sake can't possibly hurt._

The loud ring came from behind him, and Sherlock whirled to see an equally startled John, who had clearly been napping in the chair. Sheepishly, Sherlock ended the call. "I thought you went home hours ago."

John groaned, stretching out an aching back. "I meant to go home hours ago." Checking his watch, he let out an exasperated sigh. "You were going to call me at home, at three in the morning?"

"I guess I must have missed you."

"Oh, don't give me that," grumbled John. He walked over, and pulled the detective into a gentle, yet passionate kiss. Sherlock sighed, pulling John closer, biting his lip delicately when John's mouth threatened to move away. It didn't matter how many times they'd kissed now, Sherlock would never get used to the moment when it had to end. He knew from John's body language that John enjoyed these encounters, but he was always the first to nervously break away, glancing around to be completely sure nobody had caught them in such a private moment. At first, Sherlock had understood this to be simple anxiety, fear of what others would say, but it had gone on long enough now to worry him. He'd never known John to care so much about the thoughts of others, so something had to be different here. Thoughts of just what that could be haunted the corners Sherlock's mind with ever-increasing persistence as the weeks wore on.

A car backfired somewhere outside and John jumped, instinctively jerking free from Sherlock's arms. Sherlock stared, straining to hide the difficult questions in his eyes. "It's been-" he started.

"Six months, I know." John avoided his gaze carefully. "I'm sorry Sherlock, it's not about you."

"It isn't?"

John kissed him softly on the lips, then on his forehead. He took a deep breath. "What if… I tell one person. Just one person, every week." A slow smile began working its way across the detective's face; heartened, John continued. "Yes, that way, we can ease our way into this."

"Who would you tell first?"

"Oh, you know, maybe the Queen." Sherlock grinned, recognizing their mock title for Mycroft. "Anthea could be next, but I'm sure she'd know already by then."

"That she would." Sherlock took John's hand, running his fingers lovingly over the persistent calluses on the former soldier's palms. "Thank you, John." He kissed the other man once more, thrilled to feel him finally relax beneath his touch.

Old habits die hard, however, and John was again the first to pull away, although this time with a devilish smile to replace his old nervous energy. "I thought you said it was boring? The first day we kissed, you said everything was boring once you had done it before."

"Ah, but this is different every time." whispered Sherlock, kissing his neck with intoxicating skill. "You're a puzzle, John Watson."

"You're Sherlock Holmes, you'll get to the answer, you always do." John whispered back, the dare blatant in his voice.

Sherlock smiled knowingly, and reached for his phone to call for a cab.


End file.
